


No Good at Waiting

by ButterflyGhost



Category: The Shield, due South
Genre: Angst, M/M, Violent Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-12
Updated: 2015-12-12
Packaged: 2018-05-06 09:42:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5412071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ButterflyGhost/pseuds/ButterflyGhost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ray Vecchio is undercover. Ray Kowalski and Fraser are not their best selves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Good at Waiting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jodie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jodie/gifts).



> For Jodie, who wanted someone to make a link between Steve Billings of The Shield with Fraser's mysterious 'Steve.' Given that premise it seemed most natural for me to assume that Ray was undercover (again) only this time as Billings; at one point I was toying with the idea of Fraser in North having one of his spooky psychic moments and seeing Ray as Steve out of time sequence.
> 
> Unfortunately, that idea wasn't working out, but Ray undercover stuck. And then I remembered just what an absolute heel Billings was, and imagined how depressing it would be for Ray to have to act such a sleazy cop. At which point the story became increasingly angsty and we ended up with - uh - this.
> 
> Jodie did also request a happy ending for Ray Vecchio. Just to reassure her - yes, there is. But that is going to be a New Year's fic.
> 
> Promise.

 

“It doesn't look like he's doing so well."

 

Fraser pauses in the act of pulling on his walking shoes.  _Not this again._  He glances up at Ray, then away. Ray's eyes tell him everything, and Fraser can't look at that - not when he is trying to hide his own distress. There's nothing any of them can do. Why can't Ray  _accept_ that? His other Ray -  _their_  other Ray - he has accepted it. And if Ray Vecchio can accept it, then why can't Ray Kowalski? 

 

_'You're such a drama queen, Stanley. Stalking me at work. News flash, a Ninja you are not.' 'Oh yeah? Who died and made you the judge of the Ninja queens? You get manicures, Style Pig, don't queen me.' 'Oh, snip snip, Stanley. How I missed this.' 'Yeah, you love  me.' 'Jeeze, Benny. How do we live with him?'_

 

Despite everything, Fraser smiles at the memory of his Rays' last argument. Ray Vecchio had breezed through the door with a 'hey Honeys, I'm home,' followed by a round of manly hugs and back slapping. The hugs lead to - well, more than hugs. Afterwards, as, per protocol, the Ray-bickering began, rapidly devolving into, of all things, a three-way pillow fight. (Fraser won.) Vecchio had once said of his family, 'they only attack the ones they love.' It is obvious to Fraser that Kowalski and Vecchio love each other. Another man might be jealous. Fraser knows they love him too and feels blessed.

 

Or he would do, if both his Rays were home. If the FBI had not discovered in Ray Vecchio an extraordinary undercover detective; if they had not been so reluctant to let their resource go.

 

This time, at least, they had allowed Ray to choose his own name: ‘Steve,’ he’d said and grinned. ‘That way every time someone says my name I’ll think of you, Benny. No matter how many times we get lost we always look out for each other and find our way home.’

 

‘Hey, that’s real romantic,’ Ray Kowalski had said. ‘What about me, how are you going to remember me?’

 

‘I’ll get a tattoo of a turtle on my butt and think ‘wow, what a pain in the ass.’’ 

 

‘Nice. I’m touched.’

 

‘In the head, maybe. Hey – I got it. How about ‘Sword,’ for ‘Sword of Desire?’ I know you read that crap.’

 

‘Oh yeah?’ Ray flashed a dirty grin and ignored the jab. ‘You want to remember my sword?’

 

Fraser rolled his eyes and tried to hide his smile. ‘How about Billings?’ he suggested. ‘From a Germanic word for ‘sword’?’

 

So, Steve Billings it was. And had been, on and off, for years.

 

It will be over soon. The FBI _said_  it would be over soon, they  _promised._  They have a poor track record, but Fraser has to believe them.

 

"You listening to me?" Ray Kowalski's voice breaks in on his musings and Fraser startles a little. He had been so lost in his memories that he had almost forgotten where he was. 

 

 _I'm sorry, Ray,_  Fraser does not say. He doesn't even know which one of them he is apologising to. His experience has taught him that neither of his Rays takes his apologies well. He schools his face to a bland mask. He knows he is infuriating when he does this, but he can't help it. The mask snaps back in place the minute he is in pain. 

 

In the here and now, Ray Kowalski is leaning against the door frame, wearing his towel like a kilt. His hair is plastered against his skull, shower damp. Its flatness seems to reflect his mood. 

 

Fraser glances away again as his jaw clenches. He knows that Ray has seen this micro gesture, this little tell. Both his Rays can read him like a book. Ray hunches, wraps his arms around himself. He is holding something in. If Fraser didn't know better, he would think that Ray had bruised his ribs boxing. Maybe that  _is_  it. Maybe Ray is still aching from the last time they....

 

It is an unpleasant thought; Fraser shies away from it. They have to stop doing this. They have to stop -

 

"Did you hear what I said?"

 

Fraser shoves his other heel into his shoe and doesn't bother to tie his laces. He has spent enough time in his life tying up laces, and now?  _Well, really,_ _what's the point?_ He needs to get out of here, even if he has to push Ray out of the doorway to do it. He stands to grab his leather jacket, shrugs it on, hoping to put off the conversation that he knows they have to have.

 

"What, am I invisible?" Ray Kowalski's voice is rising. And no wonder. Fraser knows that his behaviour is arrogant and insufferable. He can't be anything else right now, and he can barely stand himself. Ray steps away from the door, glaring at him. "Is it contagious or something? First  _he_  vanishes, and you don't give a fuck, now I'm a ghost too? Now you won't even talk to  _me?"_

 

 _'I give a fuck,'_   Fraser doesn't say. His hands clench against the soft leather of his jacket. He tugs and the zipper sticks. He's dizzy with his anger. Who is he angry with? He has no idea. Himself because he isn't coping? Ray Kowalski for seeing him at his worst? Ray Vecchio for leaving? Fraser's thoughts are bees trapped in a bottle. They spin and turn and bash against the inside of his head, but they aren't going anywhere.  _It's this bad already,_  he thinks and feels sick. _There's no help for it. Nothing we can do._ Ray Vecchio is beyond their help now; yes, coming home, but  _when?_ And Ray Kowalski doesn't want any help at all. He can't hold onto Vecchio, so he holds onto anger instead.

 

 _No. That's wrong. You know that's wrong. It's not anger - not just anger. He does need help. That's why he's...._  Fraser's skin crawls at the thought. Maybe Ray wants to be helped the only way he ever can be when he gets like this. Fraser pinches his nose against a headache. He wants to help but -

 

_Please don't let me have to hit him again._

 

Ray bounces, his balance shifting between his heels and his toes. It is like he read Fraser's thoughts; he is rolling his shoulders and swinging his arms, hands loose but flexing. If he weren't wearing a towel, he would look like a fighter warming up, dancing around the outside of the ring. His hands go up; his fists clench. Fraser feels his façade crumble. Ray smiles the wrong kind of smile - angry and full of teeth.

 

 _I'm going to have to hit him again._  Fraser blinks hard and forces out words. Words have always been his best weapon, but they don't come to him easily at times like this. 

 

"You know you're not supposed to see him when -"

 

The first words he's managed since Ray came into the bedroom. They are no help at all. Ray's eyes flare with anger. 

 

"Oh, you're on their side now? It's okay to just keep plucking him out of his life like this, and you’re telling me I can't even  _look_  at him?"

 

 _That's not what I said._  Fraser bites down on his tongue. He shouldn't have to keep justifying himself. This situation is  _not_  his fault. 

 

In as calm a voice as he can muster, Fraser says - "you know it makes it harder for him if -"

 

"If what?" Ray's smile is edging toward feral. His wiry muscles are visibly tensing beneath his skin. "It's not like I'm going to blow his cover. I'm too good for that. Besides. It's not that kind of gig. He's investigating cops, not mobsters."

 

"Corrupt cops. And even if you're right - and we can't be sure that you _are_ right, but even if you are - then you have to know that if he sees you - _when_ he sees you -" 

 

Fraser pauses, desperate to suck in breath. Why does he never have any self-control in these situations? Why does he have to blurt out such nonsense, be so judgmental? Why does he have to make Ray angrier and angrier?  _Shut up,_  he tells himself and squeezes his eyes shut. Now that he's started talking he won't be able to shut up until - Ray won't be able to listen until -

 

"You have to know how hard it is for him to see you. It must feel like - I mean - how can he focus on the job if he sees you watching? Do you know how hard that must be for him?"

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                             

Ray's nostrils flare. 

 

"Oh yeah? How do you know how hard it is for him? When did you ever go undercover?" Ray's laugh is a harsh humourless thing. "Oh," he says. "Oh, yeah, yeah. Strike that. I remember. I read his case files. You're  _great_  in drag." He bobs forward and assays a jab in Fraser's face, a mock punch, intended to make Fraser blink. Ray jerks his chin up as if to say 'come on, give it your best shot.' Fraser's fists meet each other, knuckles to knuckles, behind his back. Ray sneers. "Yeah. You’re great at undercover as a  _girl."_  

 

Fraser's shoulders ache with the effort it is taking not to sock Ray in the jaw - something that he clearly wants and richly deserves. Ray's apparent sexism and homophobia are a posture, Fraser knows it. He knows that Ray is saying these things to get a reaction. Ray starts pacing back and forth, eyes fixed on Fraser. Fraser stands rigid as a soldier beside the bed. There was a time when he could stand still for hours no matter the provocation. That time is long passed.

 

"What?" Ray sneers. "Nothing to say? Truth too hard to hear? You don't know anything. You don't know undercover. You don't know lonely. You don't even know  _human,_  for God's sake -"

 

"I know," Fraser grits out, "that you are a fucking ass." 

 

Ray laughs out loud at that, then lunges forward, power behind the punch this time. Fraser's head snaps to the side. He can feel the blood fizzing through his veins, trickling down his face from the split in his cheek. 

 

Ray hauls back to punch again; Fraser steps to one side, his fists still tense behind his back; Ray stumbles. Fraser smiles tightly. Ray sees it and snarls. He has lost his towel, and Fraser resists the urge to knee him in the groin. He glances down and sees that Ray is becoming aroused -

 

Ray takes advantage of Fraser's distraction and hits him again - a one-two punch. Fraser's vision flares white and red as a fist connects with his left eye; he staggers as the other fist smashes into his nose. 

 

The fight gets nasty then. Fraser doesn't remember throwing his first punch, and he doesn’t know who wins. They beat each other to a standstill, then stand swaying, holding each other up. Ray is naked; Fraser clothed. If that isn't a symbol of their relationship, Fraser doesn't know what is.

 

"Ray," Fraser says, hoping this is over. Ray steps back and shoves him. Fraser falls back on the bed. As he falls, he realises that he is fully erect. His head bounces against the mattress. Just like that, he is desperate for Ray to pull down the zipper of his jeans and release him. Instead, Ray straddles him, pinning his legs. He grips his own erection, and his face is fierce. 

 

 _It's like that then. Angry, he’s still angry -_  

 

Ray forces his hand into the clenched 'y' of Fraser's groin, rocks against it, not quite too hard. Fraser groans and pushes up against the weight of that hand. He is dizzy and struggling, the fight continuing, sexual now. Fraser knows he’s losing this round and doesn't care.  _Animal, I'm nothing but an animal._  Ray rubs him through his jeans, harder and harder even as he starts to work his own erection. Fraser gazes down the length of his body at Ray, hunched over him, eyes squeezed shut and face bloody. Fraser feels that he might as well not be there. He has become invisible to Ray, nothing more than an anonymous body to be ground against and marked. Fraser’s heart knocks hard against his chest; he feels like he is dying. His blood is tacky, cooling on his skin even as sweat breaks out.

 

 _Want this, need this_  -  

 

Fraser’s voice is locked in his throat. Ray will spill his anger all over him, and Fraser could stop him. They both know that he could; they both know that he won’t - even though Fraser knows they will hate themselves afterwards.

 

Ray grunts and shifts his weight, bearing down as his left hand grinds harder against Fraser's groin with each thrust. Oh God. Fraser gasps – he is hurting now. Not just the bruises, the cuts, the back of his head where he crashed into the wall.  _Everyw_ _here._  Everywhere hurts. It’s wonderful. Fraser feels like he is bleeding from the eyes. Ray doesn't stop. His right hand quickens on his own naked erection, faster and faster, so fast that it must hurt him too. Fraser knows that this is necessary. He needs to be humiliated; Ray needs to humiliate him, to show him who's boss. Sex is intrinsically selfish.

 

Fraser pants up toward the ceiling and tries to spread his legs out. He needs to gain a little  _space,_  needs to lessen the terrible pressure. Ray opens his eyes, glares at him, and squeezes Fraser tight between his naked thighs. Fraser struggles - he can't  _not_  struggle - and Ray jerks and shoots all over him. Thick white streaks splatter all over Fraser’s shirt and jacket, splashing as far as his face and hair. Ray’s eyes are wide open and triumphant as he comes. Fraser struggles again, and Ray’s left hand spasms and clenches on Fraser's groin.

_-hot-pain-white-red-pain-_

 

Fraser passes out and doesn't even notice that he comes.

 

oOo

 

When he returns to himself, he still aches between his legs. The insides of his pants are cooling and clammy. Ray’s semen is dry and flaking off his face. Ray is lying on top of him, his face hidden in the crook of Fraser's neck and his shoulder. Something is wet against Fraser's skin. Not sticky enough to be blood. With caution, Fraser lifts a hand and rests it on Ray's back, in the space between his shoulder blades. 

 

"They can't keep doing this to him," Ray mumbles. His voice slurs as though he had been drinking. "You think that whole Mafia thing would have been enough. I mean, Jesus Christ. When are they going to stop leaning on him? When the hell are they ever going to let him  _go?"_

 

"Soon,” Fraser says. His voice is sex roughened, deeper; as slurred and drunken as Ray’s own. “When did you see him?"

 

"Yesterday," Ray admits. "I know I shouldn't have. I just - I just wanted to see he was alright. And -" 

 

Fraser soothes Ray, strokes his hair. He can feel Ray shaking and squeezes his own eyes shut in sympathy with his tears. Fraser can't cry. He has to let Ray do that for him. 

 

"Ray," he whispers. "What?"

 

"He looked so lonely,” Ray chokes out. “He was all by himself, in this crappy little diner, staring at his meal." Ray huddles into Fraser's arms. "And it must have gotten cold. He didn't even taste it. He didn't even push it ’round the plate. He just stared at it, and then he got up and walked away."

 

Fraser tilts his head a fraction, wiggles a little. Ray shifts his weight to accommodate him. Fraser kisses his ear. 

 

"He's coming home soon," Fraser whispers. "You know that. He can't be Steve forever. You know he's coming home soon. They promised."

 

"Yeah. I know."

 

And Fraser knows it too. He knows that the exit strategy is in place. That soon 'Steve Billings' will be deceased, and Ray Vecchio will be free.

 

They all know it. They talked about it last time Ray was home. The FBI confirmed it, and all the plans are in place. A week, maybe less, and  _their_  Ray Vecchio will be home. He'll know they have been fighting of course. The cuts and bruises won’t have faded by then; Fraser knows it. But their Ray has never once mentioned it. The nearest he ever comes to acknowledging it is when he kisses their bruises. 

 

"He's coming home," Fraser repeats, as much to comfort himself as the man in his arms.

 

"I know." Ray's breath hitches. "I miss him."

 

 _And I don't?_  Fraser burrows his face into Ray’s hair and inhales, keeping his thoughts to himself. It isn't time for them to fight again, and when Ray comes home, they won't need to. 

 

"Not long now," Fraser says. "Not long."

 

"I'm no good at waiting."

 

"Shh." Fraser rolls so that Ray slides off him, letting him breathe more easily. He looks at Ray's face and winces, traces his fingers along the damage he inflicted. Ray looks at him, lost.

 

"I wish he was home."

 

"He will be." Fraser closes his eyes. He hears his voice, far away and weary. "He will."

 

 _Home,_  he thinks as his limbs grow heavy and he drifts towards sleep.  _Ray's coming home._

 

 


End file.
